used to be negative space. And it is a cozy home, a soft home that provides comfort, a home in which I can live. I furl my naked body back into the me-shaped dent in my bed. Curl into the body which is mine, my home. My body rests, turns off its conscious thoughts and curls up into the night. I close my eyes lightly to the world, and sink into my skin, relax my muscles in the shimmer of the moonlight. I no longer imagine other arms hugging me, and barely think of hands prying me apart. I have my arms, my scarred arms that are no longer scared, my steady hands with which to hold me. I smile into my mind, stroke the subtle rungs of my ribs, and take pride in the fact that I feel more skin, fat, and muscle than bone. My home is well insulated, my bodyhome here to keep the me inside of me. I roll over and expose the underbelly of my skin to the world. I open. I sleep. I dream. And when I wake up to the sight of my favorite color, the world at 4 a.m., I keep my mind in that space, in the space of my body as my home, the space in which I have a desire to live.
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Clammer